


Schrödinger's Cat

by Monocytogenes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monocytogenes/pseuds/Monocytogenes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'I hate you,' he whispers, the words hovering in the air like a verdict."</p><p>An alternate telling of the aftermath of a murder. Spoilers for 01x20, "Under the Knife."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schrödinger's Cat

_12-12-12._

For the first time in hours, Eddie checks his watch. He squints at the delicate hands, tilting his wrist to capture the glow across the river, then straightens his back as the time comes into resolution.

“You’re early,” he says.

His hand drifts along Dougherty’s sleeve, over the stiff flesh and suspended bones, the fingers half-curled as though to grasp him. The musculature of the face, he observes, is just as taut—the lips parted, dark eyes wide in frozen shock. Rigor, textbooks teach, generally takes twelve hours to set in, persists for twelve more, then tapers off through the course of another twelve, vanishing to the tide of decomposition. The reality is rarely so straightforward.

It has, by Eddie’s count, been about eight. The sun hasn’t yet risen, the waves like ink beneath the deep bowl of the sky, tousled by a breeze that chills him through his shirt. His coat is resting on the deck, folded neatly to cover the stains, and he isn’t yet sure what to do with it. Complete destruction of a garment is difficult, attempts suggest intent—perhaps he’ll wash and donate it, cast it into the grand anonymity of the city. If he dropped it off in a bag with other old clothing that would afford no reason for suspicion. Besides, even if there were witnesses—

He stares into those dark eyes, feeling the nausea rise in his already-empty stomach, and swallows. _Cornea, iris, lens, suspensory ligaments, ciliary body. Vitreous body. The concentration of potassium in the vitreous increases in a linear fashion 12-100 hours after death…_

“Well.” He rubs his hands together. “I guess we should begin.”

Bending over the corpse, he threads wire through the holes of structural bricks, wrapping around and around to secure them to the torso. The wounds are still damp, and as he arranges the weights blood oozes passively onto his hands, lukewarm. He wishes that, in the midst of raiding a junkyard and commandeering the boat, he’d had the sense to purchase a pair of gloves.

“What can touch, write and hold but is senseless to feeling?” he murmurs to Dougherty, his mouth contorting into something of a pained smile. “You wouldn’t have known.”

As he grips Dougherty’s arms to drag him, he can hear the snap of releasing tendons. The head lolls slightly, the neck arched just enough for the eyes to gaze up at him, corneas bearing a hazy sheen. Lifting poses a problem—Eddie positions himself this way and that, settling after a few attempts for slipping his arms beneath Dougherty’s shoulders, gritting his teeth against the strain. After he hoists him onto the gunwhale, his shirt is bloody too.

Eddie looks at the corpse, at that mask-like face, and envisions the marbling of the flesh, the bloating of the cavities, the ragged wounds left by hungry fish. Breakdown takes longer in water than on land, but it’ll come. He reaches out, turning the corpse and pressing a fingertip against the livor settled into the back of the neck. In the dull light, it’s difficult to tell, but the skin doesn’t appear to blanch, signifying that the tiny vessels have broken down.

His thoughts turn abruptly to Kristen—to the cruel splotches on her arms, the misery twisting her features. He takes a breath, his hands finding Dougherty’s without looking, and lets those cold fingers cage him.

“I hate you,” he whispers, the words hovering in the air like a verdict. For a moment he waits, as though expecting the authorities to suddenly materialize, drawn by the admission like sharks to the scent of blood. His stomach clenches; he looks to the water, thinking he might retch.

Nothing happens. He breathes, his heart pounds, the waves lap indifferently. Out on the opposite shore, the lights continue to burn, and he reflects on the vastness of the city, on those hundreds of individuals that know nothing about this. Perhaps in a few days Dougherty’s disappearance will be digested by the news, but even then, none of those people will have any knowledge of whether the officer is alive or dead. Like Schrödinger’s cat, a construct of both possibilities in the absence of direct observation.

“I hate you,” he dares to say again, more audibly. An odd, tense excitement courses through his veins. “You bully. You conceited, despicable fool. I loathe you _so much.”_

Taking hold of the corpse’s hands, he yanks, the rigor breaking in his grip. A shuddering laugh escapes his throat as he rolls Dougherty’s misshapen fingers against his palms—fingers that had pulled and punched, now stripped of their strength. In his mind’s eye Eddie sees him in animation again, chuckling and rearing back for a second blow, and before he can stop himself he’s reaching for that bruised neck, digging in and squeezing with all his might, feeling the muscles rupture and the bones—

_Hot blood and the resistance of flesh against the blade, over and over, alive and dead and alive and dead and—_

His legs buckle. He staggers back, gripping the gunwhale for support, and coughs acid up into the river. The tension gone, he crumples to the deck, closing his eyes.

When he manages to gather himself again, he wraps one arm about Dougherty’s chest, using the other to sweep the corpse’s legs over the side. The bricks clatter against the aluminum as the torso pitches forward, followed by the head. As they sink into the muddled darkness, Dougherty’s eyes catch the light once, as though in bright, desperate plea.

 _Seventy-three feet,_ Eddie recalls from the times a tip had sent the police dredging. An average depth of seventy-three feet and miles of snaking length, wrapping around the fragmented city and dumping out into the sea. A daunting expanse to search, likely teeming with decades of untouched secrets.

Tomorrow, he thinks, he will go into work as usual. If anyone mentions Dougherty, he will feign appropriate confusion and perhaps speculate a little—the officer could be nursing a hangover, or his car wouldn’t start that morning, or maybe he woke with food poisoning. Any number of unexpected misfortunes can happen to a person. And who would expect that weird, self-conscious, scrawny Edward Nygma would be capable of something so, so—

“Goodbye, Officer Dougherty,” he says to the mantle of waves. His limbs ache, his mouth tastes of sick and his clothes reek of coppery blood, but for once in his life he doesn’t quite feel as though the odds are stacked against him.

“Good riddance.”

**Author's Note:**

> \-- Rigor mortis occurs due to the depletion of a molecule called ATP after death, which is required for muscle relaxation. When a victim is struggling with an assailant shortly before death, the onset of rigor tends to be faster due to much of the ATP having already been used. Because of this, Tom's early onset isn't all that surprising.  
> \-- Livor mortis, also known as "lividity," is the settling of the blood in the vessels due to gravity after the heart stops beating. It looks [a lot like bruising.](http://img.medscapestatic.com/pi/meds/ckb/56/9656tn.jpg) After about eight to twelve hours, it becomes "fixed" as the vessels break down and the blood leaks into the surrounding tissues. If a body is moved afterwards, this can help pathologists determine what position it had been left in before.  
> \-- The concentration of potassium inside of the eye is a rather neat way of determining time of death, especially since it seems to be [unaffected by temperature.](http://www.jcdr.net/articles/PDF/1160/1579_E\(C\)_F\(J\)_R\(S\)_PF\(A\)_P\(13-15\)_LowRes.pdf)  
> \-- [Schrödinger's cat](http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/google/google-doodle/10237347/Schrodingers-Cat-explained.html) is a thought experiment in quantum physics that was meant to point out the limitations of the idea that "a particle exists in all states until observed." Based on that idea, the titular cat ends up simultaneously alive and dead until it's looked at.


End file.
